D&D 5e: The Butchers of Buldran

[Grimsvald]

The Butchers of Buldran
​

The elderly man looked out a busted old window frame. His wrinkled beady eyes surveyed the land, but his expression looked confused by what he saw. He had one of those thousand yard stares. Reflecting on the past because he couldn’t stand focusing on the here and now. His shaky voice broke the silence, “Its hard to believe this world exists..it is even harder to believe how we’ve come to this.” He lowered his head and linked his arms together behind his back. “Once these lands of Buldran were ruled by a tyrannical warlord. Everyone lived in fear and submission to his wrath. We thought that we were in hell and nothing could be worse. We were horribly wrong….This, this is much worse”


Once upon a time Buldran was a kingdom ruled by the mighty and evil Lord Byron Fairfax. Lord Fairfax was a hateful beast of a man. Legend has it that he stood nearly 10 feet tall, wielding greatswords like short swords. He ruled with an iron fist that made his citizens feel like slaves and victims. He took what ever he pleased from the land and its people, giving them nothing in return but lashings and insults. Serfs were taxed more than they profited, daughters were taken from them and sons were slain in front of them. The kingdom profited greatly from war machines and conquest, but the future was forever bleak.


Hope rose up from the south. Finally the kingdom had met blades with a formidable foe. It was a band of 12 mercenaries who came from all over the world to put an end to Lord Fairfax’s reign. Within the week these 12 mercenaries became folk heroes. Even though they marched through enemy territories they were met as champions. Bards feverishly wrote songs for every victory. Songs that they would be killed for singing, but they refused to stop singing them.


These 12 heroes became known as the Black Fang. Named after a cautionary tale. It was a story about a mighty elephant that tramples an entire village with pride. He then comes across a tiny snake, which threatened to stop him. The elephant laughs at the snake mocking him for his size. The snake warns that he is poisonous so his small size means nothing. Then he shows his black teeth. The elephant doesn’t believe the snake and continues down the road. One bite from the snake and the elephant is forced to deal with a slow painful death.


The mercenary band traveled along a winding river into the heart of the kingdom like a serpent towards its elephant. This river would come to be called the Little Snake River. It was a long and blood soaked adventure. 2 of the great champions were lost in the battle. In the end they were able to over throw Lord Fairfax.


The empire had been toppled. The economic structure collapsed. The world we knew fell into chaos. Beyond this, something even more tragic occurred. Hope was lost. The 10 remaining heroes of the Black Fang has become corrupt to their core.


The kingdom of Buldran has been divided into 5 regions. The North, South, East, West and Central regions. Each ruled by two of these corrupted heroes. The heroes became so twisted they lost their names; glory and humanity. The Black Fang are now known as The Butchers of Buldran and they are much worse than Lord Fairfax ever was. They slaughter without reason. They twist the world into a nightmarish visage to match their hellish hearts.


“Who could rise up against these new horrific lords? What group of warriors will take down the butchers and become what the Black Fang should have been all those years ago….Our kingdom needs new hope. “ The old man sits down at a table and shakes his head. “I cannot stand to look at this world any longer…”


When the old man steps clear of the window you are free to see the apocalyptic visage that caused him to avert his eyes. You see the silhouette of a small town burn to the ground then rebuild on top of its old ashes. Soot, debris and gore pushed up against the base of half crafted spires. Lop sided buildings of wood and iron, unfinished additions extending off every side. The carpentered is a corpse in the fields so his job is done by a baker. You see corpses crucified in the fields with goose wings sown onto their backs to make them look like angels. Families refuse to cut down their loved ones, because they know a butcher will return to put someone else on that cross.


Welcome to the Southern Region…..

 

[Grimsvald]

You all find yourselves sitting at a worn out wooden table in this old man's home. Only half the seats around the table are filled, but you can tell by the way the old man's eyes linger on empty chairs, that was not the plan. Not everyone was as cunning or daring as you few to make it here alive. Your hand moves to a letter in your pocket and you remember how it came to be there. Weather it was delivered to you by a currier, nailed to your head bored when you woke up in the morning, or you found it on a corpse and decided to take up a dead mans quest...It was this letter which brought you here.


Old tanned parchment with carefully inked words. Sealed with red wax, but given no identifying markers or crest. It was clear before you even cut open the letter these words were to be kept secret. The words call to you as the strongest in your region. They beg you to rise up and form a rebellion against the evils of Buldran. Telling why these butchers must fall from power. Desperately they plea for you to take action and meet here in the southern region in secret.


The smell of meaty stew builds up in the room. Slowly the old man stands to his feet, "You are the chosen saviors of our kingdom. You are the warriors willing to rise up against these horrific lords. I pray to all the gods above and below that you can fulfill the grand tasks laid out before you. We have no one else to turn to....we have nothing else to give." He choked up and looked out the window again, his eyes fixating on one of the corpses in the fields. "Let me fetch you all a warm meal while you introduce yourselves. Lord knows the next time you will be graced with a warm meal..."

 

[JR McCormick]

Tháron


The room grew quiet... and an old wooden chair creaked lazily beneath Tháron's weight. He wasn't a large man, by regular standards, but his human blood served to keep him from appearing too scrawny or lithe. Tough brown leather adorned his body, and evidently it had provided suitable armour for the length of time it had been worn. This was made clear by an array of visible scuffs and mended tears, all of which decorated the suit from shoulder to shin.


He had seen battle before... or he had stolen this armour from the corpse of someone that had.


He still held the parchment, as he rocked gently, and glanced at it from time to time as though to ponder its meaning. One way or another, he had been brought here by this piece of paper, and it seemed to queer to Tháron how such a small thing could hold the weight of so many lives in but a few scrawlings of ink. Still, it was not his place to question things greater than himself. It was not his way.


He held his tongue, and instead ran one partially gloved hand across his stubbled chin, as the smell of stew filed his eager nostrils. The journey had not been long, but his face had thickened with short blonde bristles, and his hunger was nothing if not apparent.


Folding the letter, he rested it on the table and eyed the others that had come.


These so called saviours of Buldran.

 

[Orikanyo]

Maribelle





The woman sat at a table in the middle of the room, her large mailed for leaning over a letter she once again read for what seemed like the 100th time, it looked humorous to see a tall woman looking over a small parchment, leaning over in deep thought as she consider her options... true her town thought she would be best for the job, sure she wasn't any strange to battle... but.. was she prepared for such an undertaking? Was she trained well enough? How could she be one of the heroes spoken of in this parchment?


She sighed heavily and grumbled abit as her arms crossed over her plated chest, perhaps she chose wrongly this time? Maybe she should head home, become stronger so she may more easily help in this venture? What if she were to mess up and cause a problem even worse then the ones already going on? What if she said the wrong words and cause the group to disband...?


However, her mind was interrupted by the sudden words of the old man, "warm food", yes, that is what she needs! If she was to make a decision it was to be with a good meal within her stomache. Standing up from her seat, the chair breathing a loud groan of relief as the large woman stood up, a sound that made her wince, cursing slightly at her mother for being a goliath she made her way towards the man who was speaking before in hopes of a good meal.


Well.. good was a exchangeable term for filling these days, adventuring was hungry business, something she learned fast... Only wishing her friend came along this time, that halfling could make anything taste good.


"S-sir, I.. I shall have some if it is ready.." she softly spoke, hoping not to disturb the others.


(Our soft spoken giant enters the scene, who shall come next?)

 

[ShadowedNexus]

Cadel


As the Old Man went off into the kitchen to fetch a meal for the newly formed party of adventurers, Cadel reflected on what he had told them. True, this request of him was what he had spent his life preparing to do, but for it to have come so suddenly came at a surprise. Cadel had just begun as a full knight in his Order, and not even half a year had passed since his Oath Ceremony, he wasn't yet mentally ready for this. However, he had been called upon and he could not refuse the request, lest his honor be stained.


Cadel looked around the table at the others who had been requested, or in some cases took it upon themselves, to join this meeting. They looked like strong people, suited at least in part to embark on this quest. While he himself was yet a young boy, just barely a man. However, he would have to deal with that later. Cadel put on his friendliest face, and decided to make the best impression he could, so as to stave off his nervous feelings.


"Well that was a lot to swallow but since we are all here and waiting for the promised meal, this is a good time for introductions."


He began, hoping his true feelings wouldn't reveal themselves in his words.


"I am Cadel Feybreeze, Paladin of the Order of the Ancient Lotus. I hope we can all work together, and bring Light into this Dark Realm."

 

[mechanimated]

Sybodan was resting both elbows on the table, one hand tucked under her chin to support her head and the other with a finger outstretched. From this digit hung her familiar, whom she swung back and forth by slightly rotating her wrist. The little creature flapped his wings once and wrapped them around his tiny, furry body contentedly. Oh, to be a stupid little animal...


The wizard considered her table-mates. Humans. One with a bit of elf in him, if the slightly pointed ears were anything to go by. Syboden couldn't help being vaguely mistrustful - she had been chased out of a village more than once, for her dark red skin, the horns curling out from under pitch black hair, the pupil-less, shining black orbs she had in place of more common eyes. Often, the chasing happened after she had already given money for food and board. Greedy, conniving...bah. Bitterness did no one any good. Besides, this was a bleaker place than Syboden had come from. Darker, more washed out. She couldn't imagine the people here, even in a small town, working up the energy to drive anyone out of anywhere. All in all, unpleasant. She wondered if it had been a good idea to come here, but hey, adventure called. Syboden was far too curious to pass up the chance to scent out a mystery.


"Well, I don't know about this 'saviour' stuff. I got this thing off a corpse. Won't say no to some stew, though, thank'ee kindly."


The letter Sybodan presented, no doubt a copy of the ones the others at the table carried, was so dirty it was almost illegible. It was torn, and stained a horrible dark brown in places.


"Some highwaymen took exception to me on the road and I was forced to, ah, speed them on their way. One of 'em was carrying this. Somehow, I doubt he was the grand saviour you wrote of. Probably killed or robbed whoever had been carrying it, or maybe mugged the poor messenger delivering it in the first place. Either way, I'm mostly here on a whim. I like sightseeing, you know?"


Sybodan produced a flask from somewhere under her robes and took a swig from it before gesturing to the window.


"Not that the view here is particularly enchanting..."


The wizard spoke easily, with a relaxed, quite friendly smile. Sybodan was clearly used to talking to strangers, no surprise considering her nomadic lifestyle. As she talked and gesticulated, her layered, voluminous robes clinked faintly. From under folds there was the occasional glint of gold or bronze, or a flash of color. She was hung all over with charms and trinkets, more souvenirs from her roaming than items of any use or power. Her attire was strange, clearly foreign. Luxuriously thick pale green and beige cotton fringed with gold tassels, or else sewn over with patches of embroidery or dully gleaming buttons and studs.


"So, Cadel. It's a pleasure. I'm Sybodan. And who are you two shrinking violets, eh?"

 

[Grimsvald]

A roughly crafted wooden bowl dropped down in front of each seat. These less than ideal bowls come from the inexperienced hands of farm children. Hot potato and beef stew sloshes around inside them. "Eat....you'll need the energy." The food was fragrant and inviting, but the old man returned to the room with more than just soup. He unfolded a detailed map of Buldran's southern region and began pointing out important markers.


From what the old man explains this is what you gather. You are in the drought ridden town of Stice. There are nothing but wastelands and dangerous caves going further south towards the barbarian lands. What irrigation they can manage here comes from small creeks to the north east. Stice has a sister town to the north known as Inju. You are advised to follow these drying creeks north to the sister town where you will find a better equipped conspirator.


The old man looked around at everyone's feasting faces. There was a confidence and pride burning in his eyes. He knew he had just taken the first step in orchestrating something bigger than himself. "You will meet a close friend of mine in Inju. His name is Do...." Before the sentence could be finished a cloud of black smoke spiraled in through cracks in the wooden wall. This smoke formed a fearsome hell hound which tore the old man to the ground. Two more hounds would enter the room in the same way.


It looks as though the old man is already dead, but what will your newly forming party do about these beasts?


(Roll for initiative in the Out of Character Thread. Then post in order. Please include any attack, damage or skill rolls in your In Character post. My next post will describe your degree of success on those attempts)

 

[JR McCormick]

Tháron


The stew did smell delicious, there was no doubt... but something had upset Tháron's appetite mere seconds before the bowl had reached its mark. His foot had been resting on the left leg of the table, using it to balance his chairs rocking motion, and it remained there as he prepared to eat. It was moments before he was able to even raise a spoonful of to his lips... that it began. The smoke announced its arrival eerily, and it seemed as though time was lagging. The spoon was released, and it wavered in the air as it began journeying toward the bowl. The chair remained on its hind legs, and the balance seemed almost natural.


A dark stillness took over the room.


Like a heavy stone plummeting through calm waters, his arms crossed in reach for a pair of hip sheathed swords, while his legs widened with fluid motion. Allowing the chair to fall backwards, Tháron raised his right leg to the underside of the table and planted it firmly. If the table were to upend itself, it may provide some well needed cover.


Using his left foot to maintain some morsel of equilibrium from the drop, he allowed the wooden chair to fall between his legs. As it slapped against the floor, time regained its pace. He was on his feet now with both swords drawn... Tháron was not a fan of close quarter combat, but his bow would do little but hinder his chances of survival in this size a room.


Closing his eyes, he listened intently.


Acrobatics (15 + 4) = 19


Strength (15 + 1) = 16

 

[Grimsvald]

The old wooden table slowly goes up on two legs. For a moment it lingers, threatening to rock back to its original position. Bowls of steaming hot stew are gently lobbed into the air and the table comes crashing down. Splits of wood explode outward across the floor as one of the planks from the table is destroyed. The bowls of stew rain down upon the devilish dogs driving one back by surprise. Its tiny glimmering red eyes focus on Tharon.

 

[Orikanyo]

Maribelle, does the thing


"...My soup..." the quiet woman stated as her bowl was knocked to the floor, seeming in truth more sad about the loss of said soup then the loss of the old man.. or perhaps she didn't realize it yet? Either way, the dogs were within the room and causing a ruckus, no doubt troublesome mutts that want nothing more then to chew on their bones... just like the old man they just killed... huh... best she get to putting them down now huh?


Plucking out her axe she stepped forward and swung at the devilish dogs, no ceremony needed, a simple practiced swing of a sharp and deadly axe, flair was not needed when in the dealings of death, only strong arms in both sense of the word. While her presence didn't say much, her axe did more then tell the world of the dangers of being on the wrong side of it's blade.


"Back doggie... bad pup..." she spoke softly as the resounding SHANG of the axe echoed through the room.


[dice]17541[/dice]


Damage to floorboards


[dice]17542[/dice]

 

[Grimsvald]

As her axe swung down on the shadowy beast it assumed a smokey form. Her weapon passed through it resulting it a wet *Shud chunk* sound. Through the grey haze she could see that she had cleaved her weapon into the old man's corpse. It was a bloody and grim display hidden beneath that smoke. A slight effort would be needed to unwedge steel from haggard meat.

 

[ShadowedNexus]

Cadel likes shiny things





Cadel, interrupted by the sudden change in his meal jumped back out of his chair in surprise and grabbed his shield. He stared at the old man's corpse in horror at what had happened then quickly looked back towards the shadowy creatures. Their forms shifted and flowed like smoke contained in glass, And as apparent by the actions of the woman clad in chain-mail, they would be very difficult to strike head on. There weren't many ways to counter such devilish creatures as that.


Cadel decided the best course of action would be to avoid as combat as possible until they learned the meaning behind the attack. Thinking quick on his feet, he hurriedly got to the center of the room and began his course of action. Cadel grabbed his Holy Symbol and shouted "Begone Ye would would seek to go against the Will of The Wild!" As he finished uttering the phrase, his Holy Symbol lit up, filling the room with a bright light.

Spoiler

Paladin presents their Holy Symbol, and each fey or fiend within 30 feet of you that can hear you must make a Wisdom saving throw (12 is the save for Cadel). On a failed save, the creature is turned for 1 minute or until it takes damage.





A turned creature must spend its turns trying to move as far away from you as it can, and it can’t willingly move to a space within 30 feet o f you. It also can’t take reactions. For its action, it can use only the Dash action or try to escape from an effect that prevents it from moving. If there’s nowhere to move, the creature can use the Dodge action.

 

[Grimsvald]

One of the hounds seemed to be unaffected by Cadel's spell. It continued to rip and tear at the old man's corpse until it stopped twitching. Now it was clear that the old man could be left here for eating later. This hound turned its attention to Maribelle. With silent steps it lunged forward bitting at her legs. The creatures black teeth snapped shut inches away from the flesh they seek.


The hound with eyes fixated upon Tharon wavered. The creature's head lowered and its form flickered, but it managed to shake free from the spell's potency. As the hound regained its form, it turned its eyes upon Cadel. The fearsome creature shot forward in an arch of swirling smoke that crashed against the armored hero's shield. This hound regained its solid form gnawing hopelessly at the edge of Cadel's shield.


The final hound was not so lucky. The smoke surrounding Maribelle's axe twists upwards like a tornado. It lets out a shriek of pain. Then in the form of swirling smoke it exits the same way it came in.

 

[mechanimated]

Sybodan grabbed the bowl of hot stew greedily, with an enthusiastic thank you. Before she could shovel more than a single spoonful into her ever-hungry mouth (the curse of students, soldiers, and wanderers is the bottomless stomach), everything went to hell. Sybodan was listening to the old man outline a plan to travel to another nearby town when shadow hounds burst into the room, cutting him off mid-warble. The name he had been about to speak devolved into a gurgling, choking scream.


Sybodan leaned back in her chair, taking another mouthful of stew, as the table when flying past her face. This really was terribly inconvenient. The hounds reeked of sorcery, dark magic. It was good to have a paladin in their midst, the wizard noted, when Cadel's divine light flooded the room. Still, the monsters persisted. Bother...well, it wouldn't do to let this sort of rudeness go unpunished. Warlocks really are just the most uncivilized spellcasters. No sense of propriety or respect for dining etiquette. Sybodan could sense the almost insubstantial nature of the monsters, feel the energy that was channeled through their glittering ruby eyes - no trick of the light or mere pigment, but gems in truth. Perhaps...perhaps there was something she could do about those spell foci. But first, to warn her new companions...and to bolster Cadel, their greatest asset against creatures of darkness.


"Take heart, friends! The beasts are weak, far from their master. See how formless they are? Target those eyes, they are the focus binding the spell together. Cadel, this is your purvey. These shadows are weak, pathetic. Cast them aside, smite them!"


The room was small, far too cramped for the sword-wielders and arrow-flingers. But spells...a small smile curled as she reached into her pouch and produced a fleck of mica, held delicately between sharp nails. Spells did wonders when there was nowhere to hide from them. Sybodan drained her soup and put the bowl on the floor - it would do no good to drench herself in greasy stew when the spell went off. Most undignified. Channeling her arcane powers, Sybodan focused on a point in the center of the tussle and spoke.


"Shatter."





There was a burst of thunderous sound, like a hundred boulders cracking into pieces. Sybodan used her ability to shield her friends from the buffeting blast of energy.

Bardic Inspiration - As a bonus action, I grant Cadel one 1d6 inspiration die that he can add to any ability, attack, or save roll.

​

Shatter - Every creature in a 10 foot radius sphere makes a Constitution saving throw. On a fail, take 3d8 thunder damage. On a pass, take half damage. Inorganic creatures have disadvantage. Nonmagical objects in the radius also take damage. I use this to try to knock out or outright disintegrate the rubies.




Sculpt Spells - 1+ the spell's level (a total of 3) creatures in the area of a cast evocation spell automatically pass their saving throws, taking no damage if they would have taken half. I use this to prevent all 3 of my party members from taking damage from Shatter's AoE.



​

[dice]17552[/dice]

 

[JR McCormick]

Tháron


A great light filled the room and cascaded over the tables rim. Even with eyes firmly shut, the flash was noticeable. There was a great crash, howl and splat. A curious cacophony of sound. Raising, he peered over the makeshift wall and eyed one of the dogs. The thought stuck with him a moment.


Dogs. That's all they were, at the heart of it. An obedient creature at the whim of their master.


Sheathing his left weapon, Tháron edged slowly out of cover. He kept low, and raised one hand gently to the hound. Emulating a quiet clicking sound with his tongue, he maintained eye contact with a pair of devilish rubies. These beasts were truly unnerving, and if this didn't go to plan... at least the others may gain the opportunity to flank.


With his breathing at a steady pace, he slowed down further and opened his arms wide. He had to show the beast that he wasn't scared, and that he wouldn't cower from it.


Tháron fought back the fear, and swallowed it whole. Beads of sweat formed on his brow, and threatened to fall on his face. He was certain they already had his scent... but he had no interest in adding to the flavour.


He didn't speak.. though his throat made a low guttural hum akin to that of a wolf.


Spectral or not.


Beast was beast.





[dice]17563[/dice]

 

[Grimsvald]

Sybodan's destructive magic was greatly focused. The hound snapping its teeth at Maribelle's ankles grew still. The creature's ruby eyes literally burst and its form fell to the ground. Over the next few seconds it would dissolve leaving nothing behind.


The second hound in the room would scream in pain and withdraw towards the outer wall of the room. One of its ruby eyes cracked into three pieces but continued to float in place. The other eye exploded raining red dust on the floor. The creature swayed back and forth, slowly fading away. It maintained eye contact with Tharon and limped towards him. It was unclear if the creature was subduing to the ranger's will or sluggishly making an attempt to attack.


Either way it wouldn't matter. Lingering light from the paladin's spell began to refract through the creatures shattered ruby eye. A prism of holy light cut through the creature's form killing it painfully. Three tiny gem fragments clatter to the ground lost among a field of wooden splints and cracked bowls. The room falls quiet, but not for long.


A masculine voice yells from the courtyard outside. "The people of Stice dare to give birth to rebellion?! You weak farmers and cooks try to raise a hand to the Butchers!!? This feeble attempt will not last. You will be snuffed out like an old candle." If you look out the same window you had before you will note a man standing among a pack of hounds. His face is covered by a bone mask. His body is clad in a leather butchers apron. He tosses a hand full of letters into the dirt, red seals just like the ones each of you have.


The butcher looks around the town. His eyes slide from window to window. Then he muttered something under his breath "sniff them out..." If you struggle you may catch the words faintly in the air. 5 hounds around him split up and began searching the buildings while he walked northbound out of town.

 

[Orikanyo]

Maribelle





Noticing the threat gone, atleast the immediate one anyways, the woman started to take her axe out of the now dead man, eyes looking instead towards the strange sparkle of the ruby shards left on the ground. Her eyes then looking instead out the window to the man outside, if one could see her face under the helm, it would be one of saddness and worry, but it remains sealed beneath the iron lid, an cold gaze of dark slits that grace her helm's face.


"...Houndmaster... hunts people... akin to foxes..." her words carried softly, bringing to wonder if the woman was even capable of shouting if she wished to. "But... can people... be foxes? A story... long ago..." her mail clinked as she rose tall once more, moving towards the door with her axe held high, waiting for the others to make a decision before she went anywhere.


*readying action to move out if others do, otherwise she takes the dodge action to keep safe and await any doggies that try to burst in.*

 

[JR McCormick]

Tháron


Hastily sheathing his blade, Tháron gathered his belongings and made for the door. Slipping past Maribelle, his eyes lingered on her visor for a brief moment before exiting completely. He had heard the sounds from outside, and had no intentions of remaining indoors to be cornered yet again. A slight pang of anger flared within him as he quietly skimmed the exterior walls in an attempt to find a nearby clearing. Whatever his reasons for coming here, his own fate was now intertwined with three others.


He would have cursed. But he didn't.


Remaining in his hunkered position, Tháron unslung his longbow and pressed his back against a nearby wall. With Maribelle still in sight, he would provide cover for those who chose to follow him.


If they chose to fight, he may need to find better vantage of the field.


[dice]17588[/dice]

 

[mechanimated]

Sybodan stretched and stood from her chair, which she had not vacated over the course of the rapid and hectic fight. The room was in significant disarray thanks to the buffeting energy of her spell. All over the room, jars, glasses, and vases were shattered. The windows had been blown outward, only fang-like fragments left lining the sills. Not bad, not bad...never tried that in such a small space before. The wizard stooped to gather the remains of the rubies, shaking powder and shards into her component pouch. Sybodan could think of at least three spells that required rubies, and it never hurt to be prepared. She lived the motto - her backpack contained a prodigious amount of useful odds and ends. Never knew when you might need something bizarre.


"The people of Stice dare to give birth to rebellion?! You weak farmers and cooks try to raise a hand to the Butchers!!? This feeble attempt will not last. You will be snuffed out like an old candle."


There was a baying of hounds dispersing, searching, hunting. Ahh, well doesn't this just suck Vecna's saggy left bollock. Gods be damned, it's all getting out of hand. The fool who called them here had been sloppy, let those dangerous letters fall into the wrong hands, and now this village was going to pay for his mistake. As Maribelle and Tháron readied for a fight, Sybodan made some quick estimations. A plan, a plan...well. With a grunt, the wizard heaved the fallen table to the side, so that its surface faced the door and it blocked off the doorway to the back room. Passing her hand over the space behind it, she wove a quick spell. A simple cantrip - a silent, basic illusion appeared. It took the form of the four of them, crouching behind the table, faces contorted with fear and panic. Anyone, particularly a stupid summon, that burst in through the front door would easily mistake the scene for their little quartet hiding in the rear of the house from attackers. Looking around, Sybodan nodded to herself. The illusion was far enough from the door to necessitate any hounds that wanted a fight to enter all the way into the home.


"I'm going to slip out back and cast another spell, throw our voices to lure them here. We can't let the people of this town be slaughtered for the old mans carelessness. When the hounds come inside, I'm going to light this whole shack on fire. Your jobs, you ladies and gents with these lovely weapons of yours, is to keep the hounds from escaping out the windows or front door. Sound good? Great. No time to waste!"


It was astounding, but Sybodan looked downright chipper. It had been far too long since she had a rousing adventure, and this (though technically entirely not her fight) definitely fit the bill. Hero, probably not, but nosy busy-body? Definitely. And there was nothing like sticking your foot into a nest of vipers that hadn't been your problem to begin with.


With the illusion in place, Sybodan gracelessly clambered over the table and out the back window. She positioned herself near the sill, peering in. Once the hounds were inside, she'd light them and this whole hovel on fire, and bar the window with another cantrip. The wizard waited, making sure her compatriots were clear of the house and well positioned, before she utilized another illusion. This one took the form of a sound rather than an image. From inside the home, rather louder than normal, came the sound of voices.


"Have at you, foul beasts!", echoed Tháron's false voice.


"Leave the people of this village alone, devil!" challenged the illusory Cadel.


"Treacherous fiends, you think you can stand to us?" spake un-Maribelle.


"Shuz-ik et bin nanke t'nis suut belul urt et usnem!" mocked Sybodan, the Infernal swears as creative as they were foul.


Alright, so it didn't quite sound like their respective styles, but it's not like the Butcher or hounds would know. Besides, the wizard was going more for provocative than true to life.

 

[ShadowedNexus]

Cadel


Cadel watched as the one who had called herself Sybodan earlier prepared the illusions. They weren't much, but they should be enough to fool something from a distance. Cadel quickly exited the building, moving slowly and carefully so as to not make much noise. He grabbed his Warhammer and shield, preparing for what was to come. As he exited, he saw the ruined remains of the village destroyed from the Butchers assault. "How horrible, events like these should never happen. We have to stop him," he thought to himself.


Cadel prepared a spell while in waiting. He silently sprinkled holy water on the ground and muttered a short prayer, blessing his allies for a moment. It might not be enough, but hopefully it would tip the scales ever slightly in their favor. Cadel waited for Sybodan's plan to begin, preparing to ambush the hellhounds should any survive the trap.

Spoiler

You bless up to three creatures of your choice within range. Whenever a target makes an attack roll or a saving throw before the spell ends, the target can roll a d4 and add the number rolled to the attack roll or saving throw.


Cadel blessed everyone but himself

 

[Orikanyo]

*triggered action*


Upon her ally walking outside and casting the spell she joined him, she wasn't a caster like he was, but no less her sole presence will mean more in the long run then any spell could, she would make sure of it... Though it would be nice if a spell could end this whole deal in one fell swoop, was there a spell that could save them all? perhaps she should ask that woman... umm.. what was her name? Sybil? Cycilly? Oh dear...


her eyes examined the world around her, the sounds of folk dieing was sickening... just as sickening as the unearthly ire those dogs left behind, brimstone perhaps? Another question to ask the smart one.


"...here puppy pup... it will hurt... but a moment.."


*Dodge action taken*

 

[Grimsvald]

These stupid mutts fall right into the trap. As soon as the sound of the spell echoes out into the building, they drop whom ever they are gnawing on and come running. A massive spiral of black smoke spins into the room and when it settles it reveals the form of 5 black hounds with ruby eyes.


They quickly spot the images behind the table and snarl their ugly black fangs. Cautiously they inch towards the turned over table with knowledge of their predecessor's demises. All at once the creatures become spirals of black smoke and rip through the table. They reform on the other side of the illusion with confused scowls on their churning faces.


It seems like slow motion. The essence of heat in the air distorts their image like a light breeze was blowing through their smoke bodies. The splints of the wooden began to crackle as the air was begining to burst into flames around them. The realization of ~oh shit this is a trap~ could be seen on their faces for just a second before it was consealed behind a wall of damaging fire.


The creatures howled in pain attempting to resume smoke form and escape. The image of them strobes across the room. Smoke pours out of the cracks on the front side of the house and the hounds reform in the courtyard. Some of their ruby eyes look charred or cracked from the fire.


The walls of the building begin to crack in the expanding fire. Its clear that the wall facing the courtyard is going to collapse within the next 5 minutes.


One of the more injured hounds limps towards the one in the center of the pack and lowers its head. The other hound pins it to the ground and eats its weaker companions ruby eyes. Their forms begin to merge into something greater while the other three stand guard.

 

[JR McCormick]

Tháron


He had seen wild beats devour their kin in the cold months. When the land gives nothing but ice and wind to the wild. He had witnessed this, and more, in the harshest climates. But what these foul creatures gained from feeding on the weaker of their pack sent Tháron to wincing. The thought lingered eerily... and his body began to move as though of its own accord.


He had seen the house catch fire, his comrades escape its flames, and their enemy appear it clouds of black smoke. How soon would they remain before disappearing once more? His reactions chose to answer this question with force.


His left arm rose with a flash, while his right hand fluidly pinched a feathered arrow from his quiver and met the bowstring. The tension was quick, and the release quicker. His arrow soared through air and smoke toward the feeding creature. Without thought, his arm rose a second time with practiced grace. Choosing the second beast, he loosed the shaft directly between its eyes.


The arrows had not yet made their mark. Though his hand rose a third time as they sped off toward the enemies. Wildly grasping another arrow, he sent it again toward the feeding creature.


He would stand idly by and allow them to continue their unnatural existences.


Advantage Attack - 14+6 - 20


Attack 1 - 18


Attack 2 - 26


Hound 1 Damage - 11+6 - 17


Hound 2 Damage - 10


Twin Strike - Tháron can make a second attack to a target adjacent to his first.


[dice]17649[/dice]


[dice]17650[/dice]


[dice]17651[/dice]


[dice]17652[/dice]


[dice]17653[/dice]


[dice]17654[/dice]

 

[mechanimated]

The house went up like it was made of matches. The sucking roar of the inferno created a blast of heat that made Sybodan's hair ripple in the flickering orange light. The hounds were injured - she could see them limping, unsure, in the midst of the inferno. One was...larger? Sybodan watched with a sort of sick fascination as it devoured one of its companions, the shifting shadows that made up its body expanding and morphing. This definitely did not look good. The inferno was a good start, but it wouldn't do to let this monstrosity regain composure. Maribelle and Cadel would be waiting out front...This was a perfect chance to send them some panicked pups for slaughter.


Assuming her plan worked. Well, Sybodan was never one to play it safe. Armor? Rear-line support? Bah.


Carefully, Sybodan wove another illusory cantrip around herself, making it appear as though an indistinct radiance was cascading down upon her from nowhere in particular. Very divine, if she had to say so herself. Climbing back into the rickety, burning house (Gods I hope this shack doesn't collapse around my ears...) Sybodan crept out after the spectral dogs. They had assumed form in the courtyard, the slavering monstrosities. Somewhere out there, her companions were preparing to engage if they hadn't already. Well, time to make it a bit easier for them. Taking a deep breath, Sybodan stood tall and strode out the door, her hand held before her in a gesture of holy castigation. Radiance shimmering around her and backlit by the inferno, she thought it all looked suitably impressive. Sybodan might not be a paladin, but she sure as hell could play one on stage. As she wove her magic, reverberating whispers echoed around her, filling the courtyard. She focused on the larger hound, staring into its glittering ruby eyes, and concentrated her magic on it.


"...had no mercy for the wicked, and they shall be cast back into the..."


"Judgement, judgement, judgement, judgement for the sinners, the vile, the..."


"....end them. The bright god calls for their destruction, burn them, look at their unworthy forms! They must burn, burn for the god, burn for the light..."


"...THE LORD PRESSED HIS BURNING HANDS TO THE EARTH AND SMOTE THE WRITHING WORMS BENEATH HIS DESTROYING LEFT HAND..."


"....perish and be unmade in the pit, the hollow pit, the cold, empty pit that is the void. Wretched are the creatures of darkness that struggle against..."


"...them, crush them all, take the foul beasts and cleanse them with the hallowed light, cleanse, cleanse, destroy..."

The ominous voices spoke over each other, condemning, echoing, murmuring. They spoke of punishment, divine retribution, justice. The light Sybodan had conjured cascaded about her shoulders as her robe rippled impressively in the hot, escaping wind of the licking flames. Hopefully this new breed of hound was prone to getting cases of the nerves. Ideally, the illusory divine radiance would help sell the show. And if it doesn't work...at least I'll die looking incredible.

​

Dissonant Whispers - A single target creature is battered by ominous, terrifying whispers. It takes 4d6 psychic damage, half on a successful wisdom save.

On a failed save, the creature uses the next available opportunity to move as far away from the caster as fast as possible (avoiding obvious dangers like fire).
​

[dice]17655[/dice]

 

[Grimsvald]

The first arrow passed through the larger hound and skipped across the ground behind it. You are unsure if the attack had any affect on the creature, but you are hopeful. Your keen eyesight is used to tracking your arrows till they make their mark. When this arrow passed through the large hound you noticed it slow down, gain weight and depart with threads of darkness streaming off its point.


The threatening larger foe turned its four ruby eyes towards Tharon. Darkness seeped from its unlatched maw like black blood from the meal he had just consumed. The creature’s lip curled and vocals snarled. Its sound was expectedly supernatural. Once again the ranger had pulled full attention.


Tharon’s second arrow sails through the weaker dog identically to his first attack. This creature falls flat and its body begins to fade away. The third arrow actually skips off the side of one of the beasts red eyes causing it to spin wildly within his head. The creature sways back and forth shaking its head. When it regains its composure it seems only more determined to rip off the ranger’s head.


The creature recoils at the sight and sound of Sybodan’s spell. At first it is spooked and jolts back, but then it reacts similar to the last hit it had suffered. It doesn’t understand the voices echoing through its mind, but it understands their tone. The large beast tries to shake the voices out. The large shadow hound would spiral away 80 feet towards the other side of town as soon as it was afforded the chance. As it takes damage its form becomes inconsistent, easier to see through.


From the mages former experiences she may reason that it will be harder to hit this creature with physical attacks until its form becomes something more substantial.